


wyd when u traumatized by being alone for 16yrs of ur life clik like

by strider



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, dirk needs a nap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:36:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strider/pseuds/strider
Summary: moaarrr





	wyd when u traumatized by being alone for 16yrs of ur life clik like

You prefer the quiet. Sometimes the aloneness. Usually not.

You keep the windows locked so you don’t hear the wind, a towel by the bottom of your doorway to keep noise out from people surrounding you. They visit a lot, you all live together at the core of it, just leave when people want privacy. Dave and Roxy should be sipping coffee on the couch and finding ways to totally fuck up your television. Where would Rose even be? She’s mildly less predictable.

The others are away. It’s like family time you suppose. They’re not the same as your family. Dave and Rose aren’t.

You hear yourself breathing sharply, squinting at your naked chest in the mirror as you sit. As your pectoral area expands it pulls skin from your collar bone, making it stick out. You feel pointy, you feel sharp, threatening. You see your ribs beneath your flesh, taking your shades off and putting them on your nightstand before running your long fingers over the bones. You shiver a bit, both from seeing your exposed face in the mirror, and your cool touch to yourself.

Your stomach is less flat. You stare at it sternly, as if to command it, “empty you piece of shit, I’ll stick my fingers down my throat,” this never helps. You start to feel sick, looking away from your body, wanting it to go away, go away, go away-

“Dirk?” There’s a very gentle rap on the door, before you see painted black nails reach around the edge of the door and push it open. “Dirk,” Rose muttered again softly as you hung your head. 

“Yeah.” It wasn’t a question. Nowhere near. It was confirmation. You know Rose notices lots of things you do. She watches you like a hawk. Her eyes are caring but very sharp. You had one bite of the grilled cheese she (attempted to make) made before and kind of gave up. You had a suspicion she knew you weren’t eating well. You’re not often wrong.

You feel your body go rigid with plain shock when she wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind. Your lungs have no air and you suck in so hard your throat squeaks like a door hinge on it’s last leg of life and rust. She says nothing, rubbing your collar bone softly, planting a kiss on the side of your head. She’s silent for a good whole minute, leaning her head on his own upper arm, rested on your shoulder. She’s peering at you in the mirror, and you glance up to it a few times but keep your eyes low.

“Hey,” Rose always keeps her voice very quiet near you, you’re not so used to voices. She gets you in a weird way. “Yes?” You whisper back. She unwraps her arms from around you, stepping back and placing her hands just on your shoulders. You stare into the mirror, up at Rose’s face, feeling something twist in that stupid gut of yours that needs food so much. Something familiar, you feel it when you look at her and at Dave. They worry you. They worry about you.

“You look nice.” Rose goes to touch your hair before drawing back when you make a bit of a face. You aren’t used to this. Too much contact and too many noises and too many scents and tastes and textures and food food food food.

You shrug her off a bit. “Come finish your lunch,” she gives you a sad, sad smile as you swivel the chair around, standing before turning from her. “It’s hard,” you grumble, pulling your shirt back over your head. “I don’t want to.”

You feel like a baby when you say this. Whiney. Her face when you turn back around is a little shocked, and then soft again. She is probably thinking what you’re thinking. The softness in her face turns to wrinkles familiar to every photo you’ve seen in your head and you sit down on your bed as smoothly as possible so she doesn’t know you’re probably passing the fuck out. It’s not your eating habits. You just are thinking too much. 

Rose slips her hand under your bangs, and you feel like you’re having a heart attack. You make another sound in your throat. “I know it’s hard, rest for now. I’ll bring you something later.” You lean into her hand and sob a bit in your throat. It floods out. You’re crying like a child in front of your mom you’ve hardly spoken to and it’s hard. You’re fucking crying the salty tears of the ocean you’ve been stuck with. She just pets your hair as you cry out.

“Rest, Dirk, please. You can sleep now see? It’s ok.” They might be your family.


End file.
